


Chance Has Been

by Hannah



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-25
Updated: 2009-08-25
Packaged: 2017-10-11 17:15:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/114732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hannah/pseuds/Hannah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An attempt at communication between John and Greg.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chance Has Been

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [](http://deelaundry.livejournal.com/profile)[**deelaundry**](http://deelaundry.livejournal.com/) for the idea and [](http://nightdog-barks.livejournal.com/profile)[**nightdog_barks**](http://nightdog-barks.livejournal.com/) for beta-reading. Title comes from the song "Finest Worksong" by R.E.M.

It was getting harder to be patient. He knew how difficult it was, adjusting to a new place when his family moved, but this wasn't Greg's first or even third time. John thought that being back in the States again would make a difference, but Greg was as stubborn as ever when it came to this.  
"We shouldn't need to talk about this," he reminded his son. Greg was looking down at the kitchen floor, almost glaring at the pattern. "You should know how to make friends by now."  
Greg made a sound from his nose, snorting like a horse. "It's not my fault." He shook his head, "It's not my fault if I can't talk to anybody."  
"They're boys your age, and their fathers tell me you don't go and play at their houses when they ask."  
He slouched back in his chair, still not looking John in the eye. "I don't like talking to them."  
"That doesn't mean you can't be nice to them."  
He didn't say anything, just squirmed and kept his mouth tight. "Mom could teach me at home again."  
John sighed. "We've already discussed how bored you get at home. That's why you asked her to go to the school." Greg looked like he wanted to say something, his face twisting, but didn't. "You asked if you could go to school."  
"Egypt was better."  
"You didn't have any friends in Egypt."  
"I liked the teachers there."  
"I had to talk to your teachers there, too. You know you shouldn't talk back to them."  
"They're not –"  
"They're not what? They're not people who deserve your respect?"  
Greg finally looked at him, glancing up to his face. "I know the answers. Why can't they just let me say the answers?"  
John shook his head and rested his arms on the table. Sometimes he didn't know his son. That was one of the things Greg's teacher had brought up – he'd never show his work, not even when asked or threatened with punishment. He'd just tell her that was the answer and she should be able to figure it out on her own. It wasn't that he was right, which he was, it was that it was so hard to get him to pay attention and work with the rest of the class. He kept trying to make sense of that: how someone so bright could be so dim when it came to the simplest things. When he'd talked to Blythe earlier, she'd smiled, telling him Greg had always been like that, jumping ahead in the lessons as they'd sat at the kitchen table with the textbook. With his teacher it wasn't any different.  
"I know you think you don't need to be nice because we'll be leaving soon, but that's not a reason. You know you should be nice to people wherever you are, no matter how much time you've got with them."  
"How little time." He crossed his arms and slouched.  
"Gregory."  
"Fine. I'll say yes next time someone invites me."  
"Good." John got up to leave, knowing the implication – if Greg got asked again – could be dealt with another time.


End file.
